Old Wounds
by WraithTemplar
Summary: The Uruk knew it was only a matter of time before his wounds started festering again.


**Here's a couple notes before I let you guys enjoy the read:**

 **1\. I'm going off of the Youtube videos here, since I haven't exactly gotten the chance to buy Shadow of War yet. With that in mind, please feel free to point out any mistakes.**

 **2\. I own nothing. Sure, Ashgarn is my nemesis from Shadow of Mordor, but he was generated through the Nemesis System that was created by Monolith Productions. So, technically, I don't own him. Hooray for critical thinking.**

 **Anyways, happy reading. :)**

* * *

The striking of flint against metal. It was the only sensation that quelled his rage these days.

Menial tasks, such as sharpening his blade, used to bore the orc. Normally, he would've jumped at the chance to go on a beast hunt, or challenged any of his numerous rivals in Mordor. He lived for those days. But now, those days were long gone.

All because of _him_.

Ashgarn the Pot-Licker applied more force to his scimitar, his reflection in the steel portraying nothing short of pure hatred. Hatred for the man that had caused the Uruk and his comrades so much misery.

The Gravewalker.

Ashgarn hadn't seen that damned monster in months now, not since the last time they fought. But he could still feel it all. The cold sting of the Ranger's blade as it sliced through his body, the searing heat from every time his fears of burning to death became realized.

It was traumatizing, near-death experiences like these that Ashgarn remembered with absolute clarity. He could recall every time the Ranger attacked him, every time he bested the tark. Every time Ashgarn himself felt the sting of death.

A loud _snap_ brought the orc back to reality, and a rattling growl escaped his lips. He had gone too far and snapped the blade in half. Again.

The Uruk's breathing became more ragged. His cold, blue eyes seethed with fury. He let the beast inside of him take control, and with a frustrated howl, hurled the broken sword into a corner, where several other broken blades lay.

He leaned on the workbench for support, focusing on controlling his breathing. He wouldn't let his rage get the best of him, not yet. Not until he finally had the chance to tear that bloody Ranger limb from limb. He wasn't some mindless fool. He was a warrior, an Uruk-Hai, and he'd be damned to hell before he let blind rage make his decisions for him. He reached for another scimitar, and began the sharpening process once more, this time making slower, more deliberate scrapes with the flint shard.

The door to the workshop burst open, and another Uruk clambered through. His narrow, red eyes scanned the area before landing on Ashgarn, the latter thoroughly concentrating on his work. "Oi!" the newcomer hollered. "You need to get your bloody ass out there! There's a killing spree going—!"

 _BANG!_

The unknown orc's command was cut off by a harpoon flying through his brain. The orc's dark blood splattered over the walls, and he choked on the black fluid before staggering to the floor, dead.

"I thought I told you to LEAVE ME ALONE!" Ashgarn screamed, his rage and anxiety doing the talking for him. The launcher he'd used to execute the intruder clattered to the floor, and he clutched his head in agony as the memories flooded through his fractured mind. Memories of the orc first striking down the Gravewalker in Nurnen. Memories of the Ranger's sneak attack which sent Ashgarn down a jagged hillside. Memories of him coming to, and witnessing the slashes running down his face, battle scars that would torment Ashgarn for the rest of his miserable life.

Memories of his head nearly getting lopped from his shoulders, during that attack on the fishing docks.

He continued to sharpen the blade, the crowd's roaring filtering through the walls. The orc was used to the cheering by now. When one of Sauron's elite first approached him, Ashgarn had only wanted a way out. The fights in the arena had been brutal, but they were entertaining, nonetheless. He was surprised he'd even made it this far to begin with. After he had earned the title of champion, Ashgarn finally felt ready to move on. He'd finally found a reason to accept his scars.

But that had all changed. It changed once Ashgarn noticed the guts and severed heads of his fallen comrades littering the arena floor. It changed once he recognized a voice.

A haunting voice that the orc hadn't heard in months.

"I came into this arena…to fight Sauron's 'champion.'" The Ranger's statement held more hatred than the Uruk knew his enemy was capable of showing. Ashgarn knew it was his name that the Gravewalker was calling out, and he knew, without a doubt, that it would only end one way or the other.

"I am still waiting!" the man mocked, impatience spilling from his voice.

At first, Ashgarn had decided that he would let the Gravewalker wait a little bit longer. From his view in the workshop, the Uruk captain could tell the Ranger was occupied. Several volunteers from the crowd were tripping over each other for a shot at the tark, and even a couple of the siege commanders had taken the opportunity to fight the man filth. Ashgarn laughed pitifully at their efforts. He wondered why the lesser orcs even bothered; he already knew how it would end up.

The Uruk finally picked up the scimitar, and swung it back and forth. He grinned. The blade was sharp enough to cut through anything now…even the flesh of a Ranger. Ashgarn snatched his harpoon launcher up off the floor, and placed the weapon in its holster. He'd prepared as much as he could for the inevitable. He had spent the past few months watching the tark, studying his enemy and adapting his own tactics. He gathered several throwing knives and smoke bombs, before exiting the workshop, the door slamming shut behind him.

As he marched into the arena, Ashgarn gripped his blade tightly in his dominant hand. He would never admit this to any of his brethren, but deep down, Ashgarn was afraid. He was afraid of the outcome. He knew he was less of a match for the Ranger, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to try. Ashgarn had made the decision months ago to not let his fears control him any longer.

Now, he had to face them.

Ashgarn could feel the Ranger's burning gaze, as he turned to face the Uruk. "You…" the man whispered. The former orc captain could tell that the Ranger was surprised. Orcs don't die easily. Ashgarn was living proof of that lesson.

"Long time, no see, Ranger."

With a cry of vengeance, Ashgarn raced toward his enemy, fueled by the blood feud that had plagued him and the Gravewalker for so long.

It was time for the orc to finish what he had started.

* * *

 **I think I'll let you guys decide who's the last one standing. I'm excited for this battle to actually happen once I get my hands on Shadow of War.**

 **Anyways, reviews are greatly appreciated. Thanks, and have a great day. :)**


End file.
